


Chuck vs. The Cylon Attack (or: Three Snapshots of an Occupation)

by Trovia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Comedy, Crossover, Cylons, Dark, F/M, Gen, New Caprica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trovia/pseuds/Trovia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Occupation would have gone just a little differently if Team Bartowski had been on New Caprica to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chuck vs. The Cylon Attack (or: Three Snapshots of an Occupation)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [safenthecity](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=safenthecity).



> Thank you, millari, for betaing.

**#1: Day 27 of the Cylon Occupation**

The lieutenant who wasn’t a lieutenant anymore sat hunched behind his desk, rubbing his eyes and writing out a report while trying to listen to Chuck. And he was _trying_ , Chuck could see – there was just too little time, just as there was too little food and too little hope. Chuck’s heart flew out to the man despite himself, despite the fact that he shouldn’t let it. As Casey would have reminded him if he were here, Gaeta was a collaborator.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to help you,” Gaeta was saying. “But it’s not like the President… it’s not like they…”

His voice died. He didn’t seem to notice that his eyes had wandered to the closed door of the President’s office, a door behind which voices could be heard – probably not human ones. Then his eyes darted back to Chuck, the fear of being caught in the act of just _looking_ already ingrained.

Gaeta sighed. “She’s your wife, you said?”

Chuck’s heart fluttered. “My, my girlfriend,” he hurried to say. “Not that I wouldn’t want her to be my wife, you know, I mean, there’s no reason to rush…” He felt himself blushing, because he was babbling, and like hell was there no reason to rush. The Chief of Staff raised his eyebrows at that, refraining to point out the obvious. “I mean, she _will_ be my wife one day,” Chuck said. “Or, well, fiancée at least. But her vanishing has gotten in the way of that. Please, they’ve seen her talking to a Cylon, I’m _sure_ she’s just in detention…” He smiled nervously. “She’s a little rash, I’m sure she didn’t mean…”

 _…to try and kick his ass,_ was what he didn’t dare say.

This was different from Team Bartowski running missions on Tauron and Aquaria. There was nothing in the Intersect about the post-war Cylons. Sarah was good, but nobody was that good. If she had tried to fight that Two, she was dead.

And the Chief of Staff might have had shinier shoes than the people outside, but Casey had been wrong about him, Chuck could see. Gaeta wasn’t a collaborator – he was just another victim, like they all were.

He gave Chuck the most fleeting of glances. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he muttered before focusing back on his papers.

Opening his mouth and closing it again, Chuck opted to retreat. He didn’t say _Thank you_. The words were too small to encompass his gratitude for even that small concession. Making Chuck a little less verbose was only the smallest change the war had brought about.

* * *

 **#2: Day 67 of the Cylon Occupation**

Rain was pouring down like an inferno had broken loose - _again_ -, forcing its way into any crevice of their worn-out clothes, soaking them, down to the excuses they called underwear these days. Casey smirked to himself, unable to suppress the glee the weather was evoking in him, and nodding at Galen who gave him an inquiring look, then flapped back the opening of the tent.

The agent surveyed the tent’s inhabitants with few quick glances. Three tall ones with faces he vaguely remembered from half-forgotten news reports – Pyramid players? – had jumped up to reach for their weapons, clumsily so.

The fourth one was an old man, one who rose slower, first war vintage burned onto his face.

“Saul,” Galen said as if he’d rather say “Sir.” “This is the guy I told you about…”

“Colonel John Casey,” Casey introduced himself. If Colonel Tigh didn’t want to go by rank, that was just fine with Casey. He did best without high-ranking amateurs getting in the way. Tigh was probably a pilot, too, shiny and useless on the ground. There was little Casey wouldn’t do for a platoon of Marines. “I hear you’ve got a bit of a bombing planned for tomorrow…”

Erratic silent conversation was conducted between Galen, Tigh and one of the Pyramid nitwits. Then with a last questioning glance at Galen, the only man amongst the athletes pointed at a map on a table. “The police graduation ceremony looks…”

“Stop right there.” Casey flashed him a dangerous grin. “There are a lot better ways of putting detonators to use than you have in mind, flimsy boy. I know them all, and my buddy Carmichael? Has plans to build even better ones in that pretty head of his.”

There better be somebody paying him with some cigars after the meeting, he thought while signaling for the group to lean over the map with him. But: This… _this_ was what he had signed up for back in the day. This was why he had been _born_.

He’d scheduled this to be the best time of his life. Those toasters better not make it boring.

* * *

 **#3: Two Days before the End**

Sarah came to with a start, thrashing wildly, greedily filling her lungs with air when she broke water. Hands on her shoulder and voices calming her down, she didn’t know where she was. Neon lights above her. Water. Not enough air.

Where ever she was, it wasn’t the Detention Center anymore.

“Shush,” an old man’s voice was saying and, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Gripping the edge of the tub, she pressed her eyes shut in an attempt to force her brain to clear. She was naked, but she didn’t particularly care. She was _out_.

The hand was patting her shoulder again. She twirled around.

She was a Cylon.

“Hello mom,” Cavil said. “Welcome home.”

The muscles in her shoulders started tensing. She had to fight the instinct to knock him out with one well-aimed punch.

There was no moment of pausing in shock over the realization that she was a Cylon. Years of training – real or not – switched into gear. Taking note of everybody in the room and their positions. Plans unreeling. Cold efficiency.

Centurion armies obeying her wishes. Kicking the ass of that Two that had killed her and doing it again once he came back. Cylon launch codes. Cylon frequencies. A boy who looked like an old man, inwardly longing for his mother to take over.

Access codes and Cylon strength to make it work.

“Hello John.”

Her voice felt hoarse. She forced a smile.


End file.
